The Invitation (BDSM & Erotic Romance)

by Jennifer Bene

  The Invitation

  By Jennifer Bene

  Text copyright © 2014 Jennifer Bene

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Quarter Hazel Designs.

  With many thanks to all of my Lit friends who support my addiction to writing with no judgment, to Sarah and Blake for letting me talk about my characters for hours, and to my fantastic editor who keeps my prose in line and appreciates my kinks! I’d never be here without you all, I swear it.

  White.

  Everything was white.

  White, shimmering tiles extending down the hallway and echoing back the click of her heels. Smooth white walls, unblemished white ceiling. Recessed lighting made it almost glow above her head as she walked steadily towards the elevator at the end of the hall, barely visible by the lines separating the doors.

  Cara wanted to turn and look at the door behind her, but she knew it had already shut and that the broad shouldered private security gentleman that had walked her through the front entrance was on the other side of it.

  A shaky breath blew out as she reached the elevator, tremors thrumming through her muscles as she scanned the blank walls for a button.

  There wasn’t one.

  Her fingers traced the edge of the cardstock in her hand and she looked down at it again. In perfectly pressed letters there were three lines:

  2350 Brockton Rd. Chicago.

  October 3. 10:00PM.

  Aphrodisia, Limited.

  Her breath caught, and a thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach, their hurried wings beating at her insides and sending her pulse into heart attack territory when a ding sounded and the elevator doors slid open to reveal a perfect white box.

  Cara looked down at herself, at the tight, short, black dress, the shiny, black Louboutins. The promise of hands on her, hands on her like earlier in the week, made heat pool between her thighs and her fists clenched at her sides. And he had promised to be there.

  “I want to do this. I want this.” Her voice wasn’t as confident as she would have preferred, but she lifted her head, shook out her hair and stepped into the elevator anyway.

  The doors shut, and with a smooth hum the elevator started to descend.

  Whether she was descending into hell, and a huge mistake, or into some dark fantasy that would fulfill her in ways she’d never planned – well, only one way to find out.

  Cara’s mind flashed back to the party she’d been at just a few evenings before. All thanks to Meredith.

  All of this was because of Meredith.

  Her roommate Meredith was always getting packages of beautiful dresses delivered with nothing more than an address, date, and time on the note attached. Cara had decided within the first week of living with her pretty, blonde roomie that it was a good idea to not ask questions.

  For three months she watched the girl flit in and out of the apartment with random, beautiful packages arriving, her blonde hair being put in up-dos, dropped into braids and ponytails by stylists. She was always perfect, whereas Cara was more often found with a textbook in her lap, curled up in Victoria Secret sweatpants and a tank top with no make-up. That’s why when Meredith had popped into her room with a mischievous little smile Cara had known she was in trouble.

  “Cara… I want to ask you a question.” Meredith’s voice was cheerleader sweet. She had the smile of a pageant winner, and this wicked gleam in her hazel eyes that usually had men falling over themselves to get near her.

  “Ummm, sure?” Cara shut her textbook on the chapter discussing regioselectivity. Organic chemistry was fascinating, but undoubtedly way less interesting than anything Meredith wanted to ask her.

  “How would you like to make fifteen hundred dollars? Tonight.” Meredith’s smile didn’t even flicker as she leaned against the doorframe. Her brain did some kind of somersault as descriptions of chemical bonds disappeared and were replaced with exactly what the fuck Meredith was doing, or who the fuck Meredith was doing, that earned her fifteen hundred dollars an evening. “Cara, I really don’t have a lot of time. I need a replacement, with dark hair, blue eyes, and you happen to sleep across the living room from me. Are you really going to make me rush out and try and find someone else?” Meredith pouted prettily, but Cara couldn’t form words for a minute.

  A huff of frustration popped out of Meredith’s cupid bow lips, and she tapped her fingers against her arm in impatience.

  “Fo –“ Cara cleared her throat, “For what? You can’t just ask someone something like that and then not explain!”

  Meredith tilted her head, “Not much. Show up at a party with me, flirt with the guests, look good in the background while they talk. If you want to do more, feel free. If you do well, maybe you get another invitation.”

  “So, I don’t have to do anything?”

  “Of course not.” Meredith scoffed, “You think I’d be involved in something like that?”

  Was Meredith really asking her that? She barely knew this girl. She’d always had ideas about what those dresses were, those notes, her leaving and not showing back up until the next morning. But those had all been ideas, theories, and none of her fucking business.

  This? This was definitely her business now. But fifteen hundred dollars? To go to a party? Just the fact that Meredith thought she was pretty enough for something like that kind of made her flush with pride. A part of her wanted to go just to see if she was desirable like Meredith was, just to see if someone would want to do more with her. She kind of wanted to know if she could run in Meredith’s circle.

  It sent a thrill through her. Excitement rebounded in her.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll do it.” Cara took a breath and Meredith squealed with excitement, clapping her hands.

  Let Matthew try and call me boring now.

  The thought of her ex was sudden as Meredith started digging through her closet, groaning when she found nothing good enough. “I’m going to make a call for an emergency delivery. I am going to do your make-up, so don’t touch it. And your hair. Go take a shower!”

  Cara felt like she was in shock from her decision, and the memory of Matthew’s cruel break-up lecture had her stomach twisting.

  You’re so boring, Cara.

  You never let yourself have fun, you never WANT to have fun.

  No one wants to sit at home and talk about this science shit with their girlfriend every night.

  Then he’d left, and she’d moved. She couldn’t stand to be in her old apartment, surrounded by every memory of her year with him. That’s how she’d found Meredith’s roommate ad, a huge two bedroom in a nice part of town for a ridiculously low price.

  And for three months Meredith and Cara had barely had conversations about groceries, and now they were talking about – well, Cara had no fucking idea what they were really talking about, but she was going to this party.

  The words ‘private club’ had always sounded so alluring, adventurous, exciting. The town car that pulled up to take them there had blacked out windows, and Meredith had gone over rules with her. Just first names, don’t ask questions, she had to stay the entire night unless she left with a guest, but, and she made her look her in the eyes
to repeat herself, Cara didn’t have to do anything with anyone if she didn’t want to.

  But the more Cara thought about it, the more Cara wanted to do something. Just once to not be the good girl, the smart girl, the well-behaved, straight-A, straight laced girl she’d been her whole damn life.

  Meredith was in a silver cocktail dress that stopped obscenely short, but somehow – probably a lot of tape – was not showing her underwear. Her hair was up in a messy little up-do that had strands against her cheeks, and she looked like a model that had stumbled off the runway and onto the sidewalk in the dimly lit streets of Chicago. Her roommate had turned Cara into some version of herself she couldn’t recognize. A form-fitting, strapless red dress that corseted her breasts high on her chest. Red lipstick, a fresh manicure, red stilettos that Cara wasn’t sure she wouldn’t kill herself in, and her dark curls bound on top of her head.

  “Invitation.” The huge, dark skinned man in a suit that stood next to the unmarked door wasn’t even asking. He wasn’t checking them out, it was as if he looked straight through them. Meredith handed him the note that had come with her dress, he shone a blacklight on it, nodded and handed it back.

  He opened the door and music boomed out of the club, and she followed Meredith inside. Another large security guard stopped them immediately. “Purses.” He held out his hand and Cara looked at Meredith nervously, but Meredith handed hers over instantly.

  “Oh yeah, no cell phones or ID inside. Anonymity first.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter to her, and Cara reluctantly handed over her tiny clutch as well. The security guard scanned their bodies and when it was apparent there wasn’t an inch on them to hide anything, he nodded toward the dance floor. There were already another fifteen women standing, dancing, and sitting around in perfect dresses, along with a lot of men in suits, and a few women in suits as well.

  The wolves and the sheep.

  That’s what it looked like. Sheep laid out on perfectly decorated platters, served to the wolves.

  And Cara had volunteered to be one of the sheep.

  Meredith left her side immediately, strutting across the room to drop into the lap of a man in a chair, her laugh swallowed by the boom of the music. Of course she’d ditched her, had she really thought Meredith was going to stay with her? A waiter walked by and offered a tray of champagne, and Cara took a flute and downed it like a life raft.

  What have I gotten myself in to?

  Eyes moved over her, heads shifted to look at her and she made herself walk to the bar against one wall and sit down. She ordered a martini, and when it arrived she drank that too. The burst of alcohol in her stomach made her tingle, and she made herself breathe. She should have known Meredith wasn’t holding her hand through this, but the bravado she’d built up at the apartment when Meredith had been applying make-up, and talking about how hot she was going to look – it was fizzling under the onslaught of gorgeous women who were confidently smiling, laughing, dancing, and flirting. Who did she think she was? This wasn’t her. She belonged at home with books, and sweatpants, and -

  “Why are you here?” A smooth voice right behind her ear made her jump, and she twisted in the chair to lock eyes with a man whose dark brown eyes were drilling into her.

  “What?” She squeaked. Was it that obvious that she didn’t belong? Her confidence plummeted.

  “Up.” He stepped in front of her and held out his hand. He wasn’t asking.

  Cara took his hand and he tugged her forward off the chair, his eyes roamed over her and she returned the favor. Hello, tall, dark, and handsome. He looked like he had to be of Middle-Eastern or South Asian descent, and his voice was all cultured, purring, power. He pulled her towards the open space in the club where people were moving against each other in ways that could only be called dancing because it was to the rhythm of the music.

  “I –“

  “Don’t talk right now. I’m thinking.” His voice rumbled against her ear, and his hand found the small of her back and pulled her sharply against his firm chest. She couldn’t form words, she was so out of her depth. She didn’t belong here. “Tell me your name.”

  “Cara.” She breathed and she felt his hips press against hers and shift to the music, a thrill rushing up her spine as his hand lay against the side of her neck.

  “Cara.” Her name sounded like perfection on his lips, and she gasped when he turned her in his arms and pulled her back by her hips against him. His mouth brushed over the skin of her neck where his fingers had been. “Who brought you here, Cara?”

  “My roommate. Meredith.” The alcohol bloomed in her bloodstream, and his hand slid across her stomach, and then moved lower. Her heart thundered in her ears. A tiny part of her said she should protest, but it was drowned out by the heat growing deep inside her.

  “Meredith. That girl…” He chuckled quietly. “This is not the party for you.” He spoke directly into her ear as his fingers pressed the fabric of the dress between her thighs, rubbing the core of her. A moan slipped from her mouth and she bit down on it. If she wasn’t supposed to be here, she would leave, she should leave.

  “I’m sorry?” She felt like she had intruded, unwelcome, on their party. Why had Meredith brought her here? Her head spun with too many concerns until his fingers moved against her again and it short-circuited her thoughts. She was grateful for the darkness of the club, for the press of others around her in the small space, for the fact that she saw a hand slide up the dress of the girl in front of her. Their eyes met and the other girl smiled and rolled her hips. She wasn’t the only one giving in to this.

  “Don’t be sorry, Cara. Look around you.” His fingers were more insistent, and she felt tension wrapping around her spine, tightening the muscles in her belly. She forced her eyes away from the other girl who had dropped her head back against the man’s shoulder. Cara wanted to do that, wanted to let this stranger keep touching her, keep pushing her higher. Instead, she looked around the room. The other women were laughing, flirting, confident, brazen – Cara could barely breathe. His voice was clear against her ear, “Tell me what you see.”

  “Everyone.”

  “Describe them.” He took slow steps back with her, his hips keeping time with the beat of the music until they were nestled in a dark corner against a pillar. His hands left the apex of her thighs and he started to methodically take her hair down, bobby pins raining down on the black floor around her. She couldn’t think as he pushed his fingers through it and shook out her curls over her shoulders. “Your hair is better down, little one.” Her heart was pounding in her chest, she’d never been so turned on by someone touching her hair. She didn’t want him to stop as he pushed the ends over her shoulders. “Cara? I told you to describe them to me.” Her stomach flip-flopped, and she made herself talk.

  “Brave. Loud. Gregarious. Flirtatious. They all seem like they know exactly what they’re doing.” She was panting as his fingers tugged the hem of her dress up her thighs, and then returned to the core of her. She whimpered against him, but he laughed.

  “Did you just say gregarious?”

  “It means – “ She started and he cut her off with another laugh.

  “Oh little one, I know what it means.” His lips brushed the back of her neck, “You are full of surprises, and you just confirmed for me that this is definitely not the party for you.” He turned her around in his arms and grabbed her face in his hands. His mouth hovered over hers and she leaned forward, but he held her back. She wanted him to kiss her.

  Why did she want this man, this stranger, to kiss her?

  The pulse of heat that rushed over her as her eyes locked onto his mouth was intense. He moved her backwards until her legs hit a couch and she was forced to sit. This man, this man she didn’t know, sat down next to her and when she moved to cross her legs, his fingers grabbed her thigh and pulled them apart again – and she liked it. A lot. He leaned close to her, his low voice barely audible over the pounding music, “This event is for the party boys, C
ara. They want drugs, and drinks, loud music, and pretty, empty-headed girls. And you… you are very pretty, but you are not loud or empty-headed.”

  “What party should I be at?” She turned her head towards him, and she couldn’t get a deep breath as his hand slid between her thighs again and she felt his touch. Her hips lifted and she gasped when his fingers slid beneath her underwear. For a moment her nerves made her quail, she couldn’t do this. Could she? Her knees were pulling together and the fingers of his other hand dug into her thigh to stop her.

  “A very different party. Tell me, Cara, do you want me to stop?” His touch pressed against her clit and she arched against the couch, his mouth dropping to her throat where he trailed kisses that seared her skin and branded her. The heat inside her was a fire burning away that boring girl, turning that mousy kid she’d been in high school into ashes, and each roll of her hips was scattering those ashes so they would never be recovered again. She was becoming someone new.